To the abusive relationship that I was too afraid to let go of,

I'm not thankful for what I endured, but I'm thankful for what you taught me.

You happened for a reason. And it took me almost six months post-breakup to realize I was emotionally manipulated and lost for the last couple years of my life. It was so hard for me to say goodbye to you and accept that you were gone because you had me believing I needed you.

I was convinced you knew what was best for me. So I cut my hair when you told me it was getting "too long," even though I loved my long locks. Each time we went out, I'd get ready and come downstairs hoping to hear the words "you look beautiful" and instead, many times I was sent back up to go change into something you liked better. I obeyed because I thought you loved me. I stopped getting tattoos because you told me you'd leave me if I got another. I'd stay in night after night while we were long distance because you'd convince me that the party probably wasn't that fun anyway and my friends "weren't good influences on me" so I shouldn't spend so much time with them. You'd poke fun at me for the size of my waist, always making comments about how much I'd had to eat. I'd feel uncomfortable and sit and watch you continue with your meal. I'd shift my focus to not allowing myself to cry in front of you and your family at the dinner table just to keep my mind off the roars that came from my empty stomach. In everything, I attempted to meet your superficial expectations of exactly what you wanted me to be, but every sacrifice I made still just wasn't enough.

I thought loving you harder was the answer. I thought maybe if I just tried to understand where you were coming from, we could get to the bottom of the little meaningless arguments that would take over every conversation I'd attempt to start with you. I wanted to know you deeper with each and every day. I wanted to learn from you. I wanted to understand you. And I wanted you to want to understand me too. I was an ocean that needed to be explored, but you were content staying above water where it was safe and you could still see the shore. I was committed to loving you AND loving your flaws, and you were committed to pointing mine out and changing them.

I should have known when my past mistakes were never forgotten and continued to be was brought up to prove a point in the middle of a completely unrelated argument. I could apologize a thousand times for a mistake I had made years prior and you'd still never let me forget that I had made it. I'd openly admit to my wrongdoings and I'd quickly and humbly come to you asking for forgiveness. You had a hard time apologizing for anything because, in your mind, it was always my fault. "If you hadn't said that, then I wouldn't have done this." You had such a hard time taking responsibility for the pain you caused me, the words that hurt me, the actions that cut deep.

I clung so hard to who I knew you wanted to be, and I was committed to helping you get there. Being a man of God meant being a man of overwhelming love and forgiveness. I knew you could be that kind of man because I saw a fleeting glimpse of it in the early days of our journey together. I wanted to grow together, but you wanted to change me. You wanted to mold me into the girl that you thought you wanted, and I let you change me. And when I became that girl that you thought you wanted, well, that was when you left. A little cold-hearted, but it shouldn't have surprised me. I begged you to be kinder to me for over a year.

It was always about control and whether you had the upper hand or not. On the rare occasion that I'd stand up for myself, I'd find myself on the receiving end of a horribly demeaning comment or a condescending "who do you think you are?" In fact, you'd tell me exactly who I was. And I believed you. I felt incapable of achieving my dreams because you put me in a box and confined me to the strict walls of your control. You didn't allow me to become anything more than what I already was. My friends would tell me it was because you didn't want to feel inferior to me and you were afraid that I would realize my own potential.

It wasn't all horrible, though. You were really good to me for a long time. And I wasn't perfect by any means. I have incredible memories of summer days where we'd belt out our favorite songs with the windows down in your car, and you'd be yelling at me to get my feet off the dash. There were nights we'd go out on the town dancing in a bar full of 40-somethings to songs we didn't even know. There were even nights that we'd split an entire Tony's cheese pizza and watch "Cops" until 4 a.m., and other nights we'd split a 30-rack of PBR and goof off, laugh and exchange kisses until we couldn't keep our eyes open anymore, but the biggest difference between you and I is that I viewed our relationship in such a positive light. I let the bad moments pass because I wanted to focus on the good. I chose to focus on the good every day. In fact, looking back, I still can name more good memories than bad ones because that's how I have trained my mind to think. I forgave everything that wasn't perfect and did my best to keep the past mistakes in the past. It was healthier that way, and maybe if you had done the same, I wouldn't be writing this letter and instead, at this very moment, we'd be brushing our teeth together in my bathroom getting ready for bed.

We spoke of forever and promised those words wouldn't come off our lips if we weren't serious about them. It was all in your manipulative game, though. You'd say whatever it was that would make me smile in the moment, even if it wasn't genuine. I love raw. I love honesty, and I can't believe I didn't see through all the lies at the time they fell from your lips. Looking back, I am terrified of how blind love made me. No--actually, I am terrified of how blind love made you. Not your own love, because honestly, I'm still trying to figure out if I even experienced your love or if it wasn't real like I thought it was. You were so blinded by the outpour of love I so freely gave to you, you were unable to respond in a healthy way. You invested my unconditional love in temporary, selfish things that benefited you. Looking back I feel used and foolish, but I'd still love you the same way if I had to do it all again.

I often wonder if she knows that I exist. I wonder if she knows our history. The truth, and not just the story that you want people to know. I wonder if she knows me. Mostly because I wonder if you even knew me.

People send me photos of you sometimes, and I don't even recognize you anymore. I recognize the places you take her and the activities that you two do. They are all too familiar to me. But the man in those photos is not the man my heart recognizes.

Maybe that's a good thing, though. Maybe you have matured in a more loving way. Maybe you have become more soft-hearted and gentle like I begged you to be for years for my heart's sake. Maybe you did it for her. Maybe you have been able to invest some of that unconditional love you still have saved up from me into her. I hope so. Because six months of me fighting like hell to feel okay again looks like a lot of wasted time in hindsight, and I wouldn't wish that on her future.

I write this letter not out of bitterness but out of love for anyone else who has endured an emotionally abusive relationship. I still care for you endlessly. I regret to admit that if it came down to it, I'd probably be there for you if you ever called needing me. God has granted me forgiveness and wisdom through our last few months apart, and looking back, I am really grateful for what we shared, what it taught me, and the person I am coming out on the other end of it. I have no feelings, good or bad, toward you. We are simply strangers again, and it took a while for me to realize that that is okay.

You will always have a special place in my heart, but that doesn't mean you need a special place in my life.